box of matches
by hellokhaleesi
Summary: In the midst of all the chaos surrounding The Benefactor, one more girl is about to die, and only Lydia knows about it. In her desperation, she turns to the last person she would ever want help from, but everyone has their breaking point. / Rated E


Lydia had a 4.0 in AP Chemistry but she would have sacrificed it all for the simple know-how on how to hotwire a car because _Jesus Christ_ , her legs were on fire.

Stiles would have known. Scott would have known. Derek would have known, too, but she would have had to put up with his long-suffering stare as he did it. She doubted that either Malia or Kira would know how to effectively steal a car, given Malia's propensity to a certain lack of subtlety, and Kira's fear of doing anything illegal that doesn't involve a sword. Still, a little help would have been nice.

Either way, everyone was out. She had no idea where they were or why they weren't answering their phones, but she couldn't get a hold of anyone. Her mom had the car for the night, she had no cash for a taxi and the nearest cashpoint was miles away. It was gone eleven at night and she was running through the streets as fast as she could, heart pounding against her chest like a hummingbird's wings, blood screaming through her veins.

There was one single hope left; Derek. He had to be home or she would be convinced the universe was a sentient thing, and was conspiring against her. She needed somebody - _anybody_ \- because someone was going to die and she was no good at this and she had to save someone, just someone.

Lydia felt like a raw nerve. The cold night air was biting on her exposed skin, her fears seemed to be sewn into her, bared to the world, so every shadow, every flickering light, every time the tang of metal - something common in the industrial district - hit her, all she could see was the puddles of blood and the life leaking from the girl's eyes.

 _Lea Janssens._

She was all light hair and blue eyes and clear skin and so innocent looking, even with the skin of her wrists torn open, surrounded her her own blood, the stolen blade not far from her body. It was the image Lydia could not rid herself of, not could unsee, or un-hear the sirens, Lea's mother yelling, all the noises that surrounded the death of a young girl with her whole life ahead of her. They'd only spoken once, yet Lydia had to watch her die, and now she was running through blocks of warehouses and factories with a single shred of blind faith that someone might survive.

 _Someone had to survive._

She barely made it up the stairs to the loft without falling over, desperately panting, trying to regain some semblance of composure before she knocked on the door. Knocking was probably the wrong word to use, since she mostly just repeatedly fell into the heavy steel until she heard someone come towards it, because had just ran nearly 5 miles and was borderline hyperventilating.

Lydia braced herself with one hand on the wall, waiting what felt like years for the door to open.

"Derek…" she started, only to stop abruptly.

Peter smiled lazily at her, "Not quite, sweetheart. Wrong Hale."

Lydia wanted to cry. "Where is Derek?"

"He's out, trying to fix this little assassin problem."

His voice was so steady and calm that it felt like he was mocking her. She must have looked a mess, dressed in a sleep shirt and a pair of leggings, having thrown on the first items of clothing she could find after realising who was going to die. Her hair was sticking to her forehead, she was drenched in sweat, her face was probably flushed from running and the cold, and Peter seemed quite content to lean against the door with a smug smile on his face.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked. She bit her tongue to avoid snapping at him, realising with an internal groan that he really was her only hope.

"Someone's going to die," she said simply. When he looked at her expectantly, she carried on. "A girl, in my year, called Lea. She's going to kill herself, somewhere in the woods. But, I don't know where, and all the werewolves have seemingly gone AWOL…"

"All but me."

She scowled. "Yeah, all but you."

He seemed to consider this. "Is she supernatural?"

"I don't think so…"

"Relevant to the benefactor? Relevant at all? Or just some girl with one too many problems?"

Lydia felt her anger flare. "She is not just 'some girl', Peter," she spat. "I don't know her, but I know she has a best friend called Emily, and I know that her dad is Dutch and he moved to Holland when her parents split up and she goes there once a year to visit him. I know she wants to move to LA to be an actress and that her cat has a stupid Dutch name I can't pronounce, and I know that she is going to go into the woods and be found in a puddle of her own blood and don't you dare call her _just some girl_!" She wasn't aware until she stopped to take a breath that she had been getting louder, and more hysterical to the point that she was shoving at Peter's chest - not that she was able to move him - and was almost crying. "She has a life and friends and I know that her mother will cry at her funeral and I cannot stand here and let her die!"

The stress of yelling on her already tired lungs was getting too much, and she found herself out of breath, one hand still on Peter's chest as she stopped to breathe. Lydia was blind with rage and panic and desperation, images of blood and people screaming flashing through her mind and, _oh God,_ she just needed to find her.

Her legs gave out, sending her tumbling to the floor, grasping at her chest, trying to suck in air. The floor collided with her knees, sending pain shooting through her body as she struggled to stand and breathe and yell at Peter all at the same time. There was the unmistakable sound of a sigh, and he was suddenly at her side, kneeling next to her, trying to angle her head towards him. He looked thoroughly irritated with the entire situation, like he had a thousand better things to do with his time, but seemed to acquiesce anyway.

"Fine," he huffed. "do you have something of hers? Something with her scent?"

Lydia nodded, handing him the jacket she had been clutching onto for dear life. It was just a plain black jacket, but when she had picked it up after finding it on the floor in her English class, it had become the source of all her nightmares. Peter took it, gave it a once over, then brought it up to his face and inhaled deeply. He muttered something, nodding.

"Come on then, sweetheart."

 _ **~.~.~.~**_

They were too late.

Peter had parked at the edge of the woods, taking the jacket from her as she tried to keep up with his long strides. His eyes flickered from grey to electric blue on occasion, the noises he made a little less than human. Even on two legs, Lydia doubted she had seen him look so… _animal_ in a very long time.

Being so close, Lydia found herself having to actively think about following him. Maybe her sixth sense for finding corpses was more reliable than his sense of smell, but she'd spent too long alone in these woods to want to be there again. More to the point, Lydia found _bodies_. Maybe, if they followed Peter, she wouldn't be dead yet.

So, she stuck by his side, ignoring his noises of protest and annoyance. She didn't want to think about why he was helping her when he very well could have slammed the door in her face, why this stranger who meant nothing to Lydia and even less to him was worth the time and effort to search through the woods at nearly midnight. Why, if this was such a chore to him, that he persisted, even looking back to ensure she was caught up with him.

"I'm fine," she snapped after the third time of him stopping to wait for her. She had brushed past Lea's jacket on her way to bed, so by the time she left the house she was in nothing more than her pyjamas and a pair of slip on shoes, none of which fared well in the woods at night. He rolled his eyes at her complaint.

"Do you have any idea what Derek would do to me if I got you lost or hurt in these woods?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped cautiously over a branch. "Do you even know how much of Stiles' irritating, bratty whining I'd have to put up with?"

"Don't you put up with it anyway?"

He snorted, "Don't we all?"

Lydia remained silent because the last thing she wanted to do was start a fight with him. Instead, she irritably tried to dodge a low hanging tree branch, and nearly tripped, only to be caught by his hand on her arm.

She righted herself, and muttered "thanks" under her breath, making him laugh.

"Oh, please, Lydia, dear," He pushed another branch out of the way for her. "You're by far the most interesting of your friends - with the exception of Scott, who is amusing in the same way a three-legged puppy is amusing. Losing you in these godforsaken woods would make Derek's incessant 'pack meetings' at 9am far less entertaining."

Lydia laughed despite herself, "Well, as long as I'm entertaining enough for you…"

He smirked at her in a way that seemed utterly out of place in the dark forest, the little sky that could be seen through the dense leaves was already black. She was momentarily distracted by the change in mood by the sound of a police siren interrupting the silence of the night. She looked to Peter, who looked back at her, breathing out a sigh.

Without a word, Lydia set off through the woods, following her instinct as she ducked under low hanging trees and skipped over rocks and debris. Walking, she had a dull pull in her gut, telling her they were going in the wrong direction. Running, it was like she was attached to a chain on the back of a speeding car - she wasn't sure she would have been able to stop if she tried.

It wasn't until she caught sight of the flashing blue and red lights that she realised Peter had followed her. Wasn't until he had his hand over her mouth that she realised that she had been a second from screaming - right next to an active crime scene. For the second time that night, she had found herself trapped in Peter Hales' arms. He was muttering in her ear but she could barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing through her head and out of someone else's veins.

"-to calm down, now, Lydia. If you scream, they will find us and then they will want to know why you found another body, and why I was leading you into the fucking woods at midnight, and how I'm still alive when I'm legally dead so for the love of God, _do not scream_."

Why the command seemed to work, she didn't understand. It wasn't like she had any control over it herself, and there was something extremely irritating about it being Peter that had the ability to get her to shut her mouth. But, he was right. If she was found her - again - it would raise questions. Then people might ask why a dead 35 year old man was dragging an 18 year old girl into the forest after midnight. Derek would be investigated, which might mean Scott would, and Stiles… It was easier to pretend that it was this that helped her remain silent rather than some power Peter had over her.


End file.
